Music comes

Music comes

Sweetly from the trembling string

When wizard fingers sweep

Dreamily, half asleep;

When through remembering reeds

Ancient airs and murmurs creep,

Oboe oboe following,

Flute answering clear high flute,

Voices, voices -- falling mute,

And the jarring drums.

At night I heard

First a waking bird

Out of the quiet darkness sing...

Music comes

Strangely to the brain asleep!

And I heard

Soft, wizard fingers sweep

Music from the trembling string,

And through remembering reeds

Ancient airs and murmurs creep;

Obe oboe following,

Flute calling clear high flute,

Voices faint, falling mute,

And low jarring drums;

Then all those airs

Sweetly jangled -- newly strange,

Rich with change...

Was it the wind in the reeds?

Did the wind range

Over the trembling string;

Into flute and oboe pouring

Solemn music; sinking, soaring

Low to high,

Up and down the sky?

Was it the wind jarring

Drowsy far-off drums?

Strangely to the brain asleep

Music comes.